His Crew
by WhimsicalInTheBrainpan
Summary: Eight short stories depicting how Malcolm Reynolds looks after his crew. Ch 2: Jayne - "'Cause this time, he was sure of it. Captain Mal was gonna kill 'em." Canon pairings, but very little romance, if any.
1. Chapter 1: Simon

It was three hours past midnight – or at least by _Serenity's _internal clock it was. She was dark, save for the light of the small screen in the infirmary. The artificial brightness washed over Simon's unwavering face, bleaching it past his normal paleness. The ship was silent, too, absent of Kaylee's bright chatter bouncing off the walls, or the captain's own barking voice sharply pinging from the same. The constant hum of her engines hardly counted anymore, though they'd kept him up most of the night his first few nights.

_She _was silent as well, thankfully. He'd given her nearly twice her normal dosage of tranquilizers, and she'd been near catatonic beforehand.

Well, after screaming so loud his ears hurt, and trashing most of his infirmary into an unidentifiable mess.

It had been worse than when Jayne was looking for tape, and he was, well…Jayne. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and pinching the bridge of his nose. Then, pressing a button on the console in front of him, he spoke.

"Day one-hundred-and-fourteen, 3:15 A.M. I suppose I should say then that it's day one-hundred-and-fifteen, but I haven't been able to get to this until now, so I'll technically be putting in two logs today." He paused, clearing his thoughts with an only-slightly helpful shake of the head. "My pat…_River_ is asleep now," It was so hard not to slip into cold-doctor-mode, where it was safe. But he couldn't. "She had another episode today. One of her worse days, though no one was injured this time."

Another pause and his frown took full form. "She's getting worse. I don't know if it's the environment, the meds I've been giving her, or if it's just the natural progression into insanity caused by those _rutting_…I can't call them scientists, those _madmen_, playing with her brain." He sighed, angrily. "And she still won't talk about what they did to her, so I have nothing to go on beyond her own broken ramblings." He was putting too much emotion into it. This wasn't the point of his logs, he had told himself. Gathering his thoughts, he spoke rationally. Tried to.

"I've tried and tested most, if not all of the drug cocktails I can think of that aren't disastrous to her health, and some that might be. I briefly considered including a large dosage of Quetiapine, but it would act as more of a simple sedative than an actual antipsychotic, and I'm not comfortable with simply doping her into unconsciousness every time she starts to lose control. Even though that is basically what I am being forced into doing. Not only is it hurting more than it's helping, she's building a tolerance to it." Again the façade of professionalism faltered, and he couldn't bring himself to care this time. Without moving a muscle, the energy left him, and he slipped from a worried doctor to a hopeless, worn-out brother.

He sighed. "I'm so tired. I'm tired of running from the government that was supposed to protect me, protect _us_, the same government that took my sister away from me. I'm tired of my _fucking_ "captain" pushing me to get my "moonbrained" sister under control, when I don't even know why she's so out-of-control. I'm tired of Kaylee constantly angry at me because I say something stupid when I'm just trying to loosen up like she wants me to." He hung his head, as if ashamed of making eye contact with his image on the screen. "I'm tired of waking up to screaming, having to comfort River and having no idea how." He continued softly, brokenly. Silence reigned, as he felt the weight of the world come crashing about his shoulders, and it was crushing the breath from his lungs. Suffocating.

"Nothing's working." He murmured. "Nothing will ever work."

He shut the monitor off.

Standing, he didn't bother picking up his instruments. He'd just spent hours cleaning and organizing the infirmary, those could wait until tomorrow. He'd had enough of this room for one night. For one lifetime, even. Slothfully, he closed the infirmary door behind him, and sighed. Tomorrow, he'd be back. He'd keep looking. But tonight had been a loss. He'd just begun to head to the passenger rooms when-

"Doctor."

He turned slowly, not in the mood to deal with whatever the captain wanted to talk to him about. "Captain." He greeted, just as lowly, hoping to get the message across that he didn't want to talk.

"What're you doing up so late?" Apparently, Mal didn't get the hint. "Figured you'd be fast asleep, considering the night you had." Was that sympathy in his voice, or just mocking? Probably the second. Simon didn't bother asking the same of him. He knew of Mal's tendency to walk the ship during odd hours of the night, make sure everything was safe and sound before closing up. He'd spotted him passing by many a late night such as this. The only difference tonight, he surmised, was he wasn't going to bed with cautious, tired hope this time.

"I…" He found himself answering, despite his wish to be left alone. "I was just recording the log for today. You know…different medications I've given River, what progress she's made during the day."

Mal snorted softly, derisively. "How much would that be?" He asked sarcastically. Instead of becoming defensive, Simon surprised him by simply deflating, and turning towards the dorms.

"Goodnight, Captain." Walking away from him, he didn't notice the small furrow appear on Mal's brow. He did catch, however, the scoff that had to be aimed at him.

"Waste." The captain had only mumbled it, but it caught Simon's ear nonetheless. Brows pulled together in confusion, he turned back to Mal.

"What was that?" He asked cautiously, unsure if the captain had been speaking to him. He was assured of it with the pointed look Mal gave him. He saw pity in the captain's eyes, or at least some mockery of it.

Mal smiled without humor. "I've been in a good few losing battles in my day, Doctor, an' I know one when I see it." The older man said, shrugging. "Just thinking, what a waste of your doctorly talents it must be, using it all on a lost cause like River. It's a pity really." He sighed, turning to leave up the stairs. "Ain't nothing gonna bring that girl out of her looney-place, son. Nothing that exists yet."

Despite himself, despite the fact that he'd been thinking along the same lines as the captain only a few minutes ago, Simon felt a spark of fury flare in the pit of his stomach, and he stepped forward, jaw set.

"Do not talk about River that way. She is not a lost cause!" He didn't yell it, still mindful that there were others asleep on the ship, but the intensity of his gaze more than made up for his lack of volume. "And I _will _fix her. No matter how long it takes."

A few seconds passed, as the two men glared at each other, like two stone statues, unwavering. Then, to his utter surprise and aggravation, Malcolm suddenly smirked, and turned away, backing down for once.

"Goodnight, Doctor." Seconds later, he was staring at the spot where the captain used to be, while the sound of Mal's hatch closing reverberated throughout the ship. Simon, caught somewhere between confusion and outrage, simply stomped back to his bunk, nearly tearing the sliding door apart as he closed it behind him.

As he got into bed without changing into sleeping clothes, his mind sent all manner of obscenities towards his captain that would make Kaylee proud of him if she heard them. The captain was _not _right. He _would_ fix River. Because she was his sister, the only family he had left, and he wasn't letting her be swallowed by the darkness, God dammit. He'd made a promise to both her and himself that he would protect her, and make the monsters inside her head go away, even if it took the rest of their lives. And he was Never. Giving. Up.

Inside his bunk, Malcolm Reynolds chuckled to himself as he lay in his bed. Kaylee'd hit the nail right on the head when they'd talked about him.

Simon was such an easy mark.


	2. Chapter 2: Jayne

Author's Note: This is set after _Ariel, _but probably sometime before _The Message._ This is my second fic ever, so reviews are welcome, constructive criticism even more so. Hope you enjoy.

"_You turn on _**any** _of my crew, you turn on _**me**_!"_

Of all he'd heard that day, those words were what Jayne remembered the best. More'n the screams that kept comin' from behind him every step of his retreat after escaping from the feds. More'n them weird-ass words spewin' from little Moonbrain's mouth when they were all on that bench, with the ugly-lookin' fed staring them in the face. Long after every other thing had faded into the back a' his head, them were the words stuck with him, floatin' around like some specter. Hauntin' him.

After the cap'n had finally decided to let him live, an' locked him in the gorram airlock (which he was still pissed as hell about), after the adrenaline had finished makin' its way through his veins, he'd sat there, his back against the airlock door, and thought, long and hard, about why the cap'n had said that.

He'd already known that Mal'd had a soft spot for the doc and his Looney sis'. Hell, it'd been made clear when they'd had to haul ass back to that backwater planet just to save 'em from being burned by them hill folk. But knockin' him out with a wrench and nearly getting' him sucked outta the airlock like he'd tried to personally stick him with a knife? Sitting there on the cold floor, it hadn't made any sense at all. As far as Jayne figured, he'd been doing 'em all a favor! Hell, he was even planning on splittin' the bounty with Mal. Okay, maybe not, but he'd thought about it!

In the days after their little…"talk," it'd been made clear to him that Mal didn't trust him anymore, leastways not as much as he did before. Any time he was near, Jayne felt the captain's eyes on him, like he was 'bout to pull out Vera and try to blow a hole through everyone. It was doubly so when the prissy doc and Crazy were around him. Sometimes he wondered if the captain's stare was actually because he was expecting Jayne to pull something, or if he was just reminding him of what he'd done. And between him and the Doc finding out, he was sure he'd never forget, nor be forgiven. Even after he'd helped save Mal from Niska's grubby fingers, 'an personally shot the _hun dan_ who'd had his hands 'round his neck, he knew that Mal wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet through his skull if he stepped one toe outta line again, but didn't because at the moment he was still useful. He'd come close, though, he knew, so gorram close to that line between bein' useful and bein' dead. Never as close as that day in the airlock, though. Until today, that is.

'Cause this time, he was sure of it.

Captain Mal was gonna kill 'em. That is, if he didn't die of blood loss first.

Jayne's mind was in a fog, somewhere between asleep and awake, and he barely registered the sensation of pain in his right side, and even less so the sensation of his legs barely working under him. He felt lighter than he should have, though, and it puzzled him. It was roundabout then that he noticed his left arm was draped around something and that something was supporting most of his weight, dragging him across the arid ground. That something was also making an awful ruckus, keeping him awake when all he wanted to do was sleep.

"…ayne…keep…ing…kill…bitch…" Whatever it was saying, Jayne was sure it wasn't good. His memory came in blurry fragments, as if someone had pulled a sheet over his eyes throughout the entire thing. But it was enough to know that he'd royally fucked up this time. He let out a groan, half from the pain scratching at the back of his mind telling him he'd been shot, and half from what had happened to make it all go to shit.

The job had started out fine. Better than fine, great, even. Mal had found a client that not only needed something shipped discreetly, but a browncoat at that. The captain and the man had gotten on quickly, finding out they'd both fought at Du Khang or somesuch together. Hadn't met him in person yet, he was the one receiving the goods at the end of the trip, but he'd seemed on the level. The cargo was just foodstuffs, nothing too dangerous, almost legal even. A milk-run, he'd called it. Bullshit.

The trip had been boring. More glares from the captain, more subtle, calculating glances from Simon, more creepifying stares from River. A whole lotta nothing otherwise.

It'd been hot, the day of the delivery. The planet they'd landed on had two suns, and both were close enough that he'd catch fire to the top of his head if he jumped. He, Mal, and Zoe had gone, like they always did, and had met up with the client. They'd shared pleasantries, shared a laugh at the expense of the almighty Alliance, and had quickly gotten to business afterwards. A good start, despite the weather. That's when things started going downhill.

The client wanted a lower price than Mal and he had agreed on at first, claiming the goods were "damaged." Meaning the box had a few scratches, like he was some gorram collector of food boxes. Jayne thought it was a load of bull, and he didn't have to say so, 'cause Mal thought so too, and told him as much. The client took offense to that, and his men started getting real jittery real fast. Clearly he'd brought new guys, green as a jealous lover, and they were itching for some gunplay. All present on Mal's side knew that one wrong move and the whole damn thing would explode.

That was when Jayne made his mistake. He pulled out his gun.

Before he could even raise it level, he'd taken a round to the chest, and his world exploded into white pain and the thunderous reports of firing guns. He'd been shot before, plenty of times, but this one put him down in an instant. He should've known what would happen the second his gun left its holster. He'd seen just how close the client's men had been to a total meltdown, and he'd thought that maybe seeing the big, imposing guy suddenly with a gun in his hand would be enough to keep them from going trigger-happy. Weren't even planning on firing it. Clearly, it'd done the opposite of what he wanted. And he was sure, that wherever Mal was taking him, he'd end up in Hell, either by bleeding to death here on this forsaken patch of dirt and dust, or by Mal's own hands.

He was losing blood quickly, he knew that, but he shook his head nonetheless, trying to clear it enough to find out what the hell he was leaning against. Blinking, he found Mal's furious face in front of his own, and the same's voice ringing clearly in his ear.

"Jayne, you'd better get the lead out, or I swear, I'll send you tumblin' down to the Infernal Gates myself! You hear me?" He felt them stop, then two loud cracks came from Mal's gun, and a yell sounded from behind them. Sand and dirt kicked up around them, and he felt himself being dropped unceremoniously onto the ground. For a brief second as his mind clouded over, he thought he'd been abandoned, but two painful slaps to his face brought him back, and he found he'd been dragged behind cover, and the captain was crouched over him, shooting looks and bullets around the side.

"Whazzat? What?" He grumbled, upset at being brought back into consciousness, and bit back a yell as his chest sent white-hot lashes of pain up to his brain. A low rumble started somewhere behind him.

He was slapped again. "Need you awake, Jayne, you're no use to me all corpseificated." He heard Mal say, and he blinked, more at the effort of registering the word "corpseificated" than anything else. Suddenly, he was back on his feet, and shuffling towards the Mule, Mal supporting him. "Come on, Jayne! Ain't lettin' you die out here in the hot sun when there's a perfectly good infirmary for you to die in! Come on, come on!" He stumbled, and finally registered the growing red stain on the front of his shirt that brought clarity to his pain, just as the rest of the world started to darken.

"Shot…" He mumbled, placing his free hand over the wound and pressing weakly. Shit, he was in trouble.

"I know yer shot, jackass, that's why I'm halfway carryin' you to the mule! Jayne!" He was fading, his legs supporting less of his weight. Shit, shit, shit. Was he dyin'? Shit, gorram, _ta ma de hun dan_, this wasn't supposed to happen! Goddamn it all! More shots sounded from the mule, Zoe no doubt firing from the wheel, givin' them cover. More shots pinged off its metal plating, and others thudded softly against the ground around his feet. He was going numb now. Shit, he _was_ dyin'.

Somehow, he managed to make words. "Mal…" He groaned, sputtering weakly as he stared downwards. He tasted copper, and spit out red, grimacing. He'd always hated the taste of blood, no more so than now.

Before he could continue with whatever he was about to say, he was cut off. "Stow it, Jayne, whatever you have ta say, it can be said later, when you ain't saggin' off my shoulder like a sack of bricks! Jayne! Gorrammit Jayne, if you die here, I'll sell all yer guns to a thrift! I'll melt down Vera and make her into a medical tool set for Simon! _I'll tear apart yer momma's hat and burn it myself!"_

Slowly, Jayne blinked his eyes. _Aw, Hell no. _

With a growl, Jayne steadied his legs beneath him, enough to make it those last few yards between them and the mule. Never had so little felt like so much, and when he was finally laid out on the floor of the mule, he didn't hear the mule's engines firing, or the bullets ricocheting off the mule decrease in number until there were no more. All he heard was his heart beating wildly in his ears, and the blurred, indistinct sound of the captain's voice speaking into the radio. Somewhere along the line, Now merged with Then, and the voices buzzing around his head became clearer, for just one crystalline second.

"_...I do the job, and then I get paid…"_

"…_hat's my girl. That's my good girl…"_

"… _not sit by while there's killing here…"_

"_You turn on __**any**__ of my crew, you turn on __**me**__!"_

Moments later, his world faded to black, and Jayne Cobb knew no more.

Cotton balls. As soon as his eyes opened, that was the first thing that came to his mind. Cotton balls, floating across his field of vision. Dark bubbles danced along with them to a silent waltz, and he was transfixed for what felt like an eternity, though it could have been just seconds. Gradually he became aware of other things: the soft murmur of someone to the left of him, an even softer one from somewhere on his other side, further away. A bright light overhead, one that made him squint and try to raise his hand up to shield his face. Something stopped it, and the world slowly started coming into clarity around him.

"…an't do that quite yet, Jayne. You've been heavily sedated, so most of your body is probably feeling much heavier to you than it usually does. It should wear off in a while." He heard Simon say, the light pressure of the doctor's hand on his wrist just barely registering.

Shit, he must be in Hell. That's the only place he could think of where he'd wake up to the doc's face less than a foot from his own. That, and Serenity, but he was dead, so there was no way he could be there. Lessn' his body was there, in the infirmary, an' his soul was floatin' somewheres above it. Maybe he lasted that long, enough that they got him to the ship, or maybe he died on his way. Hell, didn't matter any which way to him. Hey, maybe he was havin' one of them outta-body experiments! Sure explained the white light thing above his head. Maybe if he could just reach, like in the movies…

"Jayne." What? He blinked, and the world snapped into focus. His eyes went right, and Mal's cool stare met his own dazed one as the captain leaned against the infirmary door, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Slowly, Jayne's mind pulled together.

"'M not dead?" He slurred, moving his head sluggishly back and forth between the doctor and the captain. A smirk lifted one corner of Simon's mouth, and he shook his head.

"Nope. You are very much alive, Jayne. It was close, though. A few minutes longer, and you wouldn't be here." Jayne blinked again. Shit, was he alive? "You've been under for almost a day now."

As the fuzzies in the corner of his mind cleared, he clenched his eyes shut at the pain he now felt permeating his side. It was dull, though, and he could tell the bullet was out, and the wound not…y'know…fatal, or somesuch. Opening his eyes again, he asked, somewhat more lucid, "Wha' happened?"

Mal answered him. "Deal went South. Things got unsmooth, as they are like to do 'round that time a'day. You got shot, I stole the money that I ain't sure they was gonna pay us anyways, and we hauled back to the ship, where Simon patched you up." Mal didn't smile until his eyes went to the doctor, and then it was a little, wry quirk of the mouth. "Speaking of which, 'Nara sent me down to tell you to come check on your sister. Apparently she's gettin' a mite restless, an' could use some a' yer doctorin'. Mayhaps a shot or two to make the crazies go away." Simon nodded, and with one last go-over of Jayne's vitals, was out of the infirmary, but not after sending a strange glare in Mal's direction. The captain, once Simon was out of earshot, let a small huff of amusement leave him, before turning back to Jayne, who still looked like he had some questions.

"Who shot me?" He asked, trying to figure it out by searching through his memories. He'd just glanced at one particularly squirrely-lookin' fella when the round hit him, and all he'd remembered was a muzzle flash from somewhere to the right of where he was looking.

"Gibbs did." Jayne frowned, trying to put a face to the name, before remembering it was the client himself, Mal's browncoat buddy. "Apparently he was as skittish as his men were, an' decided that you were 'bout to lay siege on him and his. Took it upon himself to take you out."

_Hun dan. _He shoulda known the sumbitch was the one what shot him! He groaned, closing his eyes and letting his head fall to the soft pillow under it. Still, he wanted to know more. "What happened then?"

The captain just raised an eyebrow. "I shot 'em back." Jayne's eyes snapped open, and he sent Mal a look of utter surprise, while the captain just continued. "Zoe hopped on the mule, and we managed to get a few more of his boys while I dragged you to safety. You weren't much help, draggin' yer feet, actin' like you'd been shot or some-"

"Wait, wait a gorram minute!" Malcolm's mouth closed abruptly, and he sent his hired gun a confused stare. Jayne mirrored it back a thousand-fold. "Ya…ya killed a browncoat?" Mal just nodded, still perplexed. "Why'd you go an' do that for? Always goin' on about the 'Liance and they're evils." Were he not drugged up beyond capacity, he would have stopped long ago. But he didn't. "Figure you wouldn't kill a man what fought with ya in the war less'n ya had to." Jayne'd been the only one to draw a gun. Skittish as they were, he was sure they wouldn't a' shot Mal and Zoe unless they'd retaliated. Coulda just stood there and let it happen, ruttin' fools. It's what he woulda done. "So…why?"

For a long time, a damn long time, Mal's gaze didn't leave his. A part of him wondered if Mal himself knew, or was thinking of the reason just now. Another part wondered if the man was rethinking his decision. Finally, Mal broke the unannounced staring contest, and turned towards the door with a sigh. "Already told you once, Jayne." He murmured over his shoulder, stopping at the door. "Ain't gonna tell you again."

The room was doused in darkness as the light was turned off, and the door groaned loudly in the stillness of the ship as it closed. And Jayne Cobb, for only the second time since arriving on _Serenity_, thought long and hard about himself, the ship, and the man who captained it.

"Huh." It was then that he decided that maybe…_maybe_…Mal was okay. _Cap'n_ Mal was okay.


End file.
